It has been rather a longish time since the last From The North bloggerisationisms update, dear blog reader. You may have noticed. This has been much to this blogger's immense shame and discombobulation, obviously. There was no real reason for this lack-of-blogging situation during late March and through April other than that this blogger has had, you know, 'stuff to do.' Quite a bit of it, as it happens.
All of that, plus the usual Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House lethargy and fatigue, dear blog reader (see below for further details). However now, Keith Telly Topping is extremely back in your lives just like he's never been away. This blogger imagines you're all pure dead glad about that malarkey.
One of the rather more happy 'stuff to do' moments occurred last Friday when yer actual Keith Telly Topping actually managed to get himself out of The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House for his first social engagement in months. 'kin months, at that. He was meeting up with his excellent fiend Mick The Mod Snowden - who, as it happened was on his way back to the UK having been working in Belgium (well, someone has to one supposes). This entailed this blogger making a bus journey into Central Newcastle, hanging around the Eldon Square war memorial for almost as a long as Leeds have been looking for a new manager, a very pleasant couple of hours at Pizza Express and then a short hop across the road to The Charles Grey. And, even a selfie. Which was nice.
The award-winning actress, singer and two-time RuPaul's Drag Race winner, Jinkx Monsoon will appear in a major role in the new series of Doctor Who. Jinkx has, reportedly, cultivated an international fanbase after winning two series of Drag Race including an All Stars series where she was crowned 'Queen of Queens.' Jinkx joins Doctor Who after completing her sell-out run on Broadway, where she made her debut as Mama Morton in Broadway's longest-running show, Chicago. Her stint on Broadway was a historic moment for the LGBTQ+ community, as she became the first drag artiste to play the role, breaking box office records during her eight-week run. Russell Davies said: 'In a galaxy of comets and supernovas, here comes the biggest star of all. Jinkx Monsoon is on a collision course with the TARDIS and Doctor Who will never be the same again! Jinkx their very selves, added: 'I'm honoured, thrilled and utterly excited to join Doctor Who! Russell T Davies is a visionary and a brilliant writer - I can't wait to get into the weeds with him and the crew! I hope there's room in the TARDIS for my luggage.' This blogger is not, he must confess, overly familiar with Jinkx's work, any more than he was an expert on the previous works of Ncuti or Millie. However, he is delighted to welcome Jinkx into the Doctor Who family, if only because of the utter sense of faux outrage their casting has caused online amongst the more gammon-faced, transphobe, bigoted, frothing-at-the-mouth end of fandom's Hall of Shat. Congratulations, Russell, on once again exposing what a bunch of twenty four carat twots some Doctor Who fans can be.
One is, in some ways, reminded of the fact that when Russell first took over Doctor Who in 2005, among the most vocals critics of his opening episode was the British National Party whose website loudly (very loudly) took issue with Rose Tyler being in a mixed-race relationship with Mickey Smith. As with most fascist numbskulls, of course, not only was their crass bleating laughable but they also, seemingly, missed the climax of Rose. In which Ms Tyler left her black boyfriend and ran off with a skinhead.
Big Rusty has given Doctor Who fans a tantalising insight into the next series starring Ncuti Gatwa. Speaking to Radio Times (which used to be run by adults) following Ncuti, if you will, topping (or, should that be telly topping?) the magazine's annual TV One Hundred list, the returning showrunner has spoken about a secret he's been keeping; it's all about how pure dead total great the incoming Doctor is. 'Sometimes you know you've got a secret. And you hold it close to your chest and let it burn, because secrets are so delicious,' Russell said. 'I've got that right now, because my secret is seeing Ncuti with Millie Gibson on the rushes of Doctor Who, every single day and, oh my God, this is so good!' Speaking specifically about what Ncuti will bring to the role, Russell added: 'I can promise you a completely new Doctor and yet a Doctor utterly faithful to the sixty years that came before. Soon, the secret will be out, and we'll all be dancing!' Talking about his win, Ncuti said that he was 'very pleased', adding: 'Being recognised for anything is just bloody lovely, isn't it? Let alone being on the Radio Times (which used to be run by adults) TV One Hundred list. TV is on fire at the moment and so to top the list as well feels extra cool.' Bit of a mixed metaphor there, Ncuti, but we kind of know what you mean. On joining a list of iconic previous winners, Ncuti added: 'It's extremely cool company to keep. The titans that have topped the list before me, people such as Russell T Davies, Michaela Coel, Jodie Whittaker, Phoebe Waller-Bridge and Olivia Colman, are all inspirations to me and their work is something I aspire to. They're just really great story tellers above all else and that's all I could want to do.' Commending Ncuti on his award, the BBC's Chief Content Officer Charlotte Moore told Radio Times (which used to be run by adults): 'Ncuti has an incredible dynamism. He's a striking and fearless actor whose talent and energy are boundless.'
Rachel Talalay has confirmed that the creatures seen briefly in the Doctor Who sixtieth anniversary trailer were, indeed, The Wrarth Warriors. As many fans had speculated. She told Doctor Who Magazine of the maddest moment while filming: 'I think for me it was when we were filming outside with The Wrarth Warriors for the first time. There are these eight-foot-tall monsters on stilts, in massive plastic suits, who couldn't see a thing and could barely stand up; so, a classic Doctor Who situation.
Incidentally, would someone kindly inform Loiuise Griffin who excitedly reported this news in the Radio Times (which used to be run by adults) that hateful word 'Whovian' is an effing disgrace, that not a single Doctor Who fan with so much as an ounce of dignity or self-respect (admittedly, two things one does not normally associate with us in Doctor Who fandom) uses it. And, that anyone who does is a brain-damaged moron or the victim of a cruel medical experiment and deserve withering sarcasm and a good, hard slap until they promise never to do it again. Sorry, Lou, but it's The Law.
All of which brings us to From The North's popular semi-regular feature Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Fifteen: Conversations With Dead People.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Sixteen: Angel.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Seventeen: When She Was Bad.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Eighteen: Dead Man's Party.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Nineteen: Fear Itself.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Twenty: Intervention.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Twenty One: Lessons.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Twenty Two: The Pack.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Twenty Three: The Dark Age.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Twenty Four: Gingerbread.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Twenty Five: The Harsh Light Of Day.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Twenty Six: No Place Like Home.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Twenty Seven: The Killer In Me.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Twenty Eight: Tabula Rasa.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Twenty Nine: Hallow'een.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Thirty: Band Candy.
Magnificently Daft Lines From Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1997-2003). Number Thirty One: Who Are You?
After Good Friday's 'nothing says Easter like Where Eagles Dare on Channel Five' observation, came 'nothing says Easter Sunday at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House like serial-killer music' as this blogger dug out his copies of the two soundtrack CDs of From The North favourite Last Night In Soho. For some, long-overdue, digital spinning.
Mention of Where Eagles Dare, of course, reminds this blogger of one of his beasts fiends regularly pointing out that amongst the most interesting things about the movie (the fact that the Germans can't shoot straight aside, obviously) is that the three main Nazis in the film were all played by (terrific) actors who, in real life, would've been exactly the sort of people that the Nazis themselves would've gladly stuck in camps if they'd had the chance. Derren Nesbitt and Ferdy Mayne - both Jewish and Anton Diffring who was gay. So, hurrah for Dick and Clint mowing down three quarters of the Wehrmacht on their own, frankly. On general principle.
All of which rank nonsense, of course, brings us with the tragic inevitability of the tragically inevitable to that regular part of From The North dedicated to this blogger's extremely on-going medical malarkey. Or, strictly speaking, malarkeys as there are several of them. For those dear blog readers who haven't been following this on-going fiasco which appears to have been on-going longer than the building of the Great Pyramid of Giza, it goes like this: Keith Telly Topping spent some weeks around Christmas 2021 into New Year 2022 feeling rotten; experienced five days in hospital; was discharged; received B12 injections; then more injections; somewhat recovered his missing appetite; got an initial diagnosis; had a consultant's meeting; continued to suffer fatigue and insomnia; endured a second endoscopy; had another consultation; got (unrelated) toothache; had an extraction; which took ages to heal; had another consultation; spent a week where nothing remotely health-related occurred; was given further B-12 injections; had an echocardiogram; received more blood extractions; made another hospital visit; saw the insomnia and torpor continue; received yet more blood tests; had a rearranged appointment for his sick note; suffered his worst period yet with the fatigue. Until the following week. And, then the week after that. Oh, the fatigue, dear blog reader. The depressing, ceaseless fatigue. He had a go on the Blood-Letting Machine; got another sickie; had an assessment; was given his fourth COVID jab; got some surprising news about his assessment; had the results of his annual diabetes check-up; had another really bad week with the fatigue; followed by one with the sciatica; then one with the chronic insomnia; and, one with a plethora of general cold-related grottiness. Which continued over the Christmas period and into New Year. There was that 'slipping in The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House bath and putting his knee through the side' thing; the night-time leg cramps; the 'getting new spectacles' thing and this blogger's return to the East End pool after over a year. Only to discover that he's is, currently, as weak of a kitten when in water. Or, indeed, out of it.
Another short session in the - so-called - loop dne tsae occurred somewhat recently. This blogger only managed but one-and-a-bit lengths on that particular day a'fore the previously mentioned fatigue done kicked him, geet hard, in the Jacob's Cream Crackers and he needed a lie down in the steam room. But, the hot shower afterwards was, as with the previous week, pure acetastic in the area and helped to, if only briefly, soothe this blogger's throbbing back. For about twenty minutes. The fatigue, sad to report, remains virtually omnipresent and even something straightforward like walking down the road to the bus stop sucks all of the energy out of this blogger. Whenever he gets one of his three-monthly B-12 shots for about two or three days afterwards, he tends to feel a touch less lethargic than normal. And then, sadly, it's back to square one.
Also of note for history buffs, the above photo was taken outside the pool, mere yards away from one of the handful of bits of Hadrian's Wall still standing in the Newcastle/Waalsend area. Roman craftsmanship, still standing after two thousand years. Or, alternatively, one of two complete ruins in the vicinity (the other one was taking the photo).
It's not as impressive as this bit, admittedly.
Or, indeed, this bit (the lack of Kevin Costner leaping over the wall in search of Nottingham, notwithstanding).
Nevertheless, dear blog reader, last week it was a case of once more unto them there Byker Baths, once more. There was no outdoor photo on that occasion since a) that was all getting a bit boring, frankly and b) this blogger had neglected to take a comb with him so his hair was a complete fright. Instead, here he was, one short bus ride later, in Morrisons café looking a bit stern(!), having his tea and toast and feeling more than a bit tired and emotional.
Here, meanwhile, is a picture of Harry, Elsie and Young Richy proving, once and for all, that you should always - but always - trust a man wearing sandals with socks. (He didn't have the best sandals in the world. He didn't even have the best sandals in The Be-Atles a popular beat combo of the 1960s, you might've heard of them ...)
As demonstrated, here.
Of course, the other two clearly didn't make as much from their songwriting as is often supposed, otherwise, they'd've been able to afford socks to go with their sandals. Lennon, for instance, had clearly taken Aunt Mimi's advice to heart. Socks are all right for a hobby, John, but you'll never make a living from them.
And, as for Macca, a year later, the poor fekker couldn't even afford the sandals, let alone the socks.
And, that's yer whack for this latest - somewhat shorter than usual - bloggerisationism update, dear blog reader. From The North will return just as soon as this blogger has enough content to justify such an expenditure of energy and when he hasn't got an overload of 'stuff to do'. You heard it here first.
